Doubt
by Trekkieb
Summary: Eliot to the rescue.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Leverage and all recognizable characters belongs to the brilliant folks at TNT.

Author's note: This little scene just came to me, and although it takes place in the middle of things and brings up lots of questions, it really wanted to be written. This may eventually get fleshed out into a full story, but updates will likely be sporadic. The title may also change at some point as the story grows.

Characters: For now, Eliot and Hardison, eventually everyone else.

Rating: Equivalent of PG-13

Doubt

By Trekkieb

He burst through the door, unknowing and uncaring if the crumpled bodies behind him were alive or dead – only caring that they were neutralized. In the room were three of Connor's men, as yet unaware of their boss' failure and utter humiliation at the hands of Nathan Ford and team. Surprise and anger dawned on their faces at the intrusion, and two of the men surged forward, reaching for guns holstered on their hips. The third man already had a gun in his hand. Wrestling a dazed-looking Hardison in front of him, the goon pressed the gun against Hardison's temple and started to smile.

Eliot didn't like guns. Much preferred one-on-one, or hell even five-on-one fights where every move was spontaneous but efficient, damaging, and controlled. Those were fair fights – fair being a relative term, considering most people who went up against Eliot Spencer never got up again. What was fair about a bullet? No, Eliot didn't like guns. But he sure as hell knew how to use them, thank the U.S. government for that, and this situation sure as hell wasn't fair.

If there was a moment of doubt, it was fleeting. There and gone again in the beat of his adrenaline-fueled heart.

Before the two goons coming at him could clear leather, before the one holding Hardison could finish his smile, Eliot raised his right hand and fired the gun he'd only just confiscated from the most recent casualty in the hallway. Three shots. Three bodies fell.

Hardison stood frozen, wide-eyed and speechless. He blinked as Eliot suddenly moved into the room. "H-holy….Eliot, man, I can't believe, did you just…oh man…" And his mouth was off and running at warp speed – and why the hell did he know what warp speed was, Eliot demanded angrily of himself – in a tone only slightly less than hysterical.

Eliot tuned the words out as he moved, simultaneously scanning the room for additional threats and escape routes, cataloguing Hardison's injuries – bruises on the face, a left hand that seemed swollen and wrong – and suppressing the sudden surge of affection and relief that the hacker wasn't dead. "Are you all right, man?" he asked, not unkindly. When Hardison only continued his ramble – "somehow triggered a hidden alarm in their system, and man, don't ask me how but-" Eliot barked the question a little louder, a little harsher. "Hardison! Are you alright? Can you walk out of here?"

The flow of words suddenly stopped, and Hardison pulled his gaze from the bodies on the ground, each with a little bloodless hole drilled right between the eyes. He seemed to finally hear Eliot's question. His gaze turned inward as he took personal inventory of all his body parts. He grimaced a little as he wiggled the fingers of his left hand, but said, "Uh, yeah, I-I think so." He looked at Eliot like he was seeing him for the first time, and there was something uncomfortably close to awe in his expression.

Eliot was already in motion, herding him around the bodies and to the door, his thoughts now focused on getting them out of this building with minimal interference. As he paused at the door, scoping out the hallway, Hardison cleared his throat. Eliot glanced over his shoulder, then did a quick little double take.

One of Hardison's eyes was half swollen already, but the look in the other was serious and – sincere. "Eliot," he said, the briefest touch on Eliot's arm, there and gone. "Thanks, man. For coming to get me."

Eliot only shook his head and grumbled something indecipherable, but he hid a smile as he moved out into the hallway, motioning for Hardison to follow. "There was never any doubt, Hardison."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Leverage and all recognizable characters belong to the brilliant folks at TNT.

Characters: Eliot, Hardison, Parker

Rating: PG

Author's note: This is actually the final scene to an as-yet unwritten story. So, seeing as I have had no creative inspiration for "Doubt" I decided to post the one extra scene I had written, just cause I could totally picture it and I think it follows up on the previous chapter quite nicely.

"You should tell him," Parker whispered loudly.

"Tell me what?" Eliot asked as he set down his beer and bowl of popcorn on Nate's coffee table and sank down into the couch beside Parker. He picked up the remote control and started flipping channels.

Hardison shook his head fervently and mouthed his refusal to Parker across Eliot's head. "Parker, no. It's nothing, Eliot."

"Hardison said you're his hero now," Parker said oh-so innocently, but Hardison saw the wicked gleam in her eye.

That finally got Eliot's attention. He turned his gaze full force on Hardison, who pursed his lips and tried not to look mortified. Damn, girl. You're a mean one, he thought.

Eliot raised an eyebrow. "That right, Hardison?" he said.

Hardison mustered up some indignation and shot a baleful glare at Parker. "Naw, man, see, Parker's just misconstruing my words." Here, she smiled at him, and the glare intensified before he continued. "I was just sayin' how appreciative I was of you savin' my butt and all, and the term Rambo-esque may have come into play, but hero? Nuh-uh, nope, I don't recall using that particular word." His cast was nothing but a neon green blur as he waved his hands in emphasis.

"Uh huh." Eliot looked skeptical, but Hardison was literally saved by the bell as the oven timer went off. Eliot moved off towards the kitchen, and Hardison threw a couch pillow at Parker.

"Oof! What was that for?" she demanded.

"What're you doing, girl, you trying to get me killed?"

She scoffed and picked up the abandoned remote. "Oh, come on, Hardison. Eliot wouldn't kill you." She paused, shot a quick glance towards the kitchen area. "Well, maybe…"

Hardison just folded his arms and sank back into the chair cushions. A second later, Eliot stomped back over, shaking a dishtowel in his face.

"The thing is, Hardison, I ain't your damn hero. Yeah, I was able to help ya today, and I'm glad. But you gotta start takin' care of yourself, man, 'cause next time I may not be around to do it for ya."

Eliot's anger was palpable, but Hardison just grinned at him.

Anger was immediately replaced with suspicion. "What?" Eliot demanded.

"You're glad," Hardison stated, and damn, he thought his face would split straight in half.

Realizing what he'd said, Eliot scowled and pushed his hair out of his face. "Yeah, well, that can change real quick."

"Eliot?"

"What?"

"Your biscuits are burning."

"My wha-?" Realization dawned as Eliot sniffed the air. "Damnit, Hardison!" he yelled and stormed off to rescue dinner.

Parker watched Eliot banging around the oven, then shrugged and patted the couch cushion beside her. Hardison more than willingly moved over from the chair. He settled in with a sigh of satisfaction, plopped his feet up on the table, and nestled his orange soda safely between his knees. He wrestled the remote out of Parker's grasp, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Ooh, Terminator," he said as he settled on a channel.

"Hardison," Parker whispered, leaning in close, "Do you think Eliot could beat up the Terminator?"

He sipped his soda and smiled. "Without a doubt."

The end? Who really knows for sure…..


End file.
